Page 31 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

“There was nothing you could’ve done. Naim is the firstborn. The title was his by right.”

“Yes, but your brother was never fit to be sheikh.”

“And I am?” I ask, because I’ve asked myself that question many times.

“You’ve always been a leader, Kaled. A strong, honorable man. No one becomes a ruler. You were born one, whether your kingdom is a business or a nation. I’ve never doubted that you would lead Rheadur better than Naim ever could.”

“I’ll return, Father. When the time comes, I’ll go home and fulfill my duty.”

Minutes later

She still hasn’t come downstairs.

It’s been more than thirty minutes since I ended the call with my father, and Adeela still hasn’t come to see me.

That’s not like her. It doesn’t fit what I know of her nature, so I decide to cast aside propriety and head to her room.

I knock. No answer.

Asleep?

“Adeela?”

“A minute,” comes her reply.

She takes longer than that, and when she finally opens the door, to my surprise, she steps aside to let me in, then walks straight to the window.

Pretending not to notice her strange behavior, I watch as she stares out at the night.

Her hair is loose, and just as I imagined, the heavy black waves gleam like silk, falling almost to her waist. I have to fight the urge to touch them.

“The view from here is beautiful,” she says without turning around. Her voice sounds nasal, thick.

“Yes, it is. This apartment wasn’t even for sale, but I came to a party here once and decided I wanted to wake up to thatview of the Champ de Mars and the Eiffel Tower every time I stayed in Paris.”

She nods.

“You didn’t come down,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, but the call with my father . . .” Her words trail off, and I see her shoulders shake.

She’s crying.

I move closer and turn her to face me, not caring whether it’s the right thing to do. I need to see her, and she doesn’t seem willing to let me.

Her eyes are red, and tears stream down her cheeks.

I’m not exactly a sensitive man, but no one could stay indifferent to her pain.

Whatever Arif said to her, it broke something deep inside.

“Look at me, Adeela. If this is about the arrangement your father made with your so-called fiancé, don’t cry. I won’t let them force you into marriage.”

One of my hands, no longer obeying my brain, slides from her shoulder to her face, my thumb catching a tear.

She doesn’t stop crying, so I pull her into my arms.

It’s meant to be brief, a soft touch intended to comfort her. But the instant our bodies meet, tension crackles between us so fiercely we both step back.